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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29681754">godloveyell</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emeryael/pseuds/Emeryael'>Emeryael</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Normal High School, Angst, Artist Steve Rogers, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bisexuality, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Child Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Evil Alexander Pierce, Homelessness, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Steve Rogers, Psychological Trauma, Rock and Roll, Sexual Abuse, Slash, Slice of Life, conversion camps</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:08:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,528</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29681754</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emeryael/pseuds/Emeryael</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Natasha offers Steve some cash to take photos of a Battle of the Bands competition for the Shield Prep newspaper, Steve isn’t really expecting much. Then the lead singer of the band Valkyrie takes the stage: Bucky Barnes, the shy preacher’s boy who gave him his first kiss, then disappeared from his life before his freshman year.</p>
<p>Overjoyed, Steve leaps headfirst into a relationship with Bucky. But Bucky is in the middle of a self-destructive spiral and carries with him secrets that could affect his relationship with Steve. That is, if they don’t kill him first</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes &amp; Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>godloveyell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>TW: this deals with some pretty heavy stuff related to drug abuse, child abuse, and homophobia. Later in the story, conversion/reparative therapy camps into play.</p>
<p>Any resemblance to real-world rock bands is purely coincidental. Though if any of you want to adopt some of my band names, go right ahead. It’d be nice if you send me a sample of your music.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Were it not for the hundred dollars Natasha promised him, Steve would probably be back in his dorm, either studying or watching one of the movies in his collection. But a hundred dollars for what amounted to four hours’ work was nothing to sneeze at, especially for a student in his position.</p>
<p>The crowd seemed to generally be in good spirits. Those who were old enough to drink wore special wristbands and eagerly took advantage of the opportunity.</p>
<p>Steve, being only fifteen, had settled for a Vanilla Coke from the soda fountain. It was pretty good, so sweet and so cold, and as he scanned the room, he was almost looking forward to the show.</p>
<p>  “So how are you doing?” Natasha stood behind him, the very picture of calm.</p>
<p>  “Okay, I guess.” Steve tapped his fingers against the borrowed camera he wore around his neck. “So where are we setting up? I’m going to need some place special if you want me to take some half-decent photos.”</p>
<p>“I’ll take you there in a bit. And relax. Like I said, I just need some decent photos. You don’t have to be Ansel Freaking Adams.”</p>
<p> That was why Steve was here. Natasha was the editor of the Shield Preparatory newspaper, <em>The Star.</em> When the guy who she normally had take the photos called in sick, she hired Steve for the evening.</p>
<p>Steve wasn’t really expecting a lot from this Battle of the Bands. These were all amateurs after all. But like hell was he in a position to turn down a hundred dollars.</p>
<p>Natasha led him to what was called the press box. She sighed. “Okay I was able to talk to two of the bands beforehand, Sour Apple and The Glasgow Smiles. After the show, I’ll try to catch Valkyrie and Hydra, see if I can get some decent quotes from them. If the plan changes, I’ll let you know.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Steve said. “So which one did you say your friend from juvie is in?”</p>
<p>“Oh, that’d be Valkyrie. His name is Clint. He plays the bass.”</p>
<p>The proprietor of this establishment, which was officially called The Blue Moonlight Bar &amp; Grill, but was referred to as The Joint by everyone else, was a slender man dressed in a ratty flannel shirt, his long, stringy brown hair covered by an ancient red baseball cap. Despite the fact he was entering his forties, he still dressed like a college student behind on laundry day, wearing whatever clothes that could be scrounged up out of the hamper.</p>
<p>“Okay…” His voice was so slight that even with the microphone, Steve had to strain his ears to hear him. “Thank you everybody who came out tonight. I hope you enjoy the show. Tonight, Sour Apple, The Glasgow Smiles, Valkyrie, and Hydra will compete for your votes and a chance at the grand prize: $10,000, 24 Hours of recording time at the Hall of Rock, and this sweet cherry-red guitar. To vote, download our app from the store, create an account, and cast your vote.</p>
<p>“Now that’s all been said, let’s give it up for our first band: Sour Apple!”</p>
<p>The crowd cheered as the band took the stage.</p>
<p>Sour Apple was an all-girl band that described their style as pop punk, which turned out to be an accurate description. Their aesthetic was neon pink and green edged with black. Their sound was peppy, pounding, and fast, with a hard-driving guitar and drum set behind it, like a mixture of Blondie and No Doubt. Part of their set included a cover of “Just A Girl” by No Doubt.</p>
<p>The girls finished their set and took their bows. Steve gamely clapped along. He wasn’t a huge fan of their sound, but damn if he didn’t bounce along to it.</p>
<p>Next up were The Glasgow Smiles.</p>
<p>When Steve had heard the band’s name, he had expected hard-edge, old school punk akin to The Sex Pistols. But the band’s sound was more emo than angry. Still, he enjoyed their set, especially the song “Run. Hide. Speak.” They even did a cover of “Love Will Tear Us Apart” which, while it wasn’t as good as the original by Joy Division, still managed to catch the melancholy beauty of the piece.</p>
<p>Then Valkyrie took the stage and the air left Steve’s lungs.</p>
<p>The last time Steve saw Bucky, it was a few weeks before his fourteenth birthday, the summer before he started attending Shield Prep, and they were in the thicket behind his mother’s trailer.  Some days, they would kiss, but that day, they had just hung out and chatted about the future.</p>
<p>James Buchanan Barnes or Bucky as he was called, was something of a minor celebrity in their little podunk town, the adopted stepson of the pastor of the local mega church. Every Sunday, Bucky strummed a guitar and he and his sister, Rebecca performed for a congregation of 5000 strong every Sunday.</p>
<p>Steve freely admitted that he used to set his alarm clock, so he could wake up early and watch the services on TV every Sunday morning, just so he could see Bucky. Many times, it was the only time he could see Bucky. His stepfather kept a tight hand on him, always stuffing him into lessons and after school programs.</p>
<p>It was Bucky who had suggested that he take the full ride offered to him by Shield Prep. Bucky was a year older and had already spent a year there. The plan was that they would be roommates and Bucky would show him around campus and with them attending the same school, he and Bucky would get to see each other more often.</p>
<p>But when September rolled around, Bucky was nowhere to be seen. Steve had looked for him on campus, but he was gone. All his letters to Bucky were stamped “return to sender,” the last containing a note saying not to mail anything else to this address.</p>
<p>Enough time had passed that the emotional wound no longer hurt as much as it had, but still, seeing Bucky onstage, microphone in his trembling hands, brought it all back.</p>
<p>He was a far cry from the Bucky he had known, the shy, stammering preacher’s boy who had given him his first kiss. This Bucky was a grim, haunted creature, his hair long and greasy, his clothes resembling something he had peeled off the bedroom floor.</p>
<p>And then he began.</p>
<p>Bucky seemed to own the crowd as soon as he took the stage, coming more alive as the music wore on. He possessed an energy none of the other lead singers had so far demonstrated, holding the crowd in the palm of his hand, demanding, not asking, them to pay attention and to follow wherever he led them.</p>
<p>His was a wall of sound, the drums providing a steady heartbeat and the bass serving as an anchor from which the lead guitarist/sing could climb and leap.The band performed four songs, three original, one cover, each exquisite to behold, but it was the very last one, “Into the Woods” that made the world stop for a moment, made Steve’s neurons lit up like the night sky.</p>
<p> Valkyrie finished its set and took their bows. Then Hydra came onstage.</p>
<p>“Oh God,” Steve heard Natasha say.</p>
<p> “What’s going on?” Steve asked.</p>
<p> “It’s that creep, Brock Rumlow.” Natasha shook her head. “I got myself sent to juvie because of that guy. He grabbed my breasts, so I broke his arm, which frankly I felt was a perfectly legitimate response. Unfortunately, the juvenile justice system didn’t agree with me.” She shrugged. “Whatevs. I’ve got a job to do.”</p>
<p> Hydra seemed bound and determined to bury its listeners in music, pummeling its listeners with their sound. It felt in many ways like being inside a musical clothes dryer.</p>
<p> Steve had a hard time focusing amidst the onslaught, but Natasha had hired him to take photos so that’s what he did. It was nothing but a relief to be released from Hydra’s cage of music.</p>
<p> There was a brief intermission as the votes were tabulated. People chatted and hung out, went to the bathroom, or purchased some more refreshments.</p>
<p>When the proprietor took the stage, the crowd quieted down. “Um… the votes are in and the winner of this year’s battle of the bands is…Hydra!”</p>
<p>Natasha rolled her eyes as Rumlow accepted his prize. “Guy should be grateful the awards weren’t determined by personality.” She turned to Steve. “C’mon, let’s get some more quotes. You can snap some more photos and if you want, maybe get the phone number of that lead singer you were crushing on.”</p>
<p>Steve’s cheeks turned scarlet. “Was it that obvious?”</p>
<p>“‘Fraid so. Now follow me.”</p>
<p>Natasha asked more questions and received more answers from the other bands. Steve trailed behind her, periodically snapping photos.</p>
<p>When they went backstage to see Valkyrie, Steve’s heart pounded so hard, he couldn’t hear anything else. His palms sweated. He was supposed to let Natasha do all the talking and just take pictures, but questions upon questions multiplied in his head.</p>
<p>            (<em>Why did you leave me? Where did you go? Do you still love me?</em>)</p>
<p>There wasn’t going to be enough time to ask all his questions; many were written solely on his heart and could not possibly be put into words anyways.</p>
<p>            (<em>Bucky’s hands in his. Heart fluttering. His lips, warm and soft.</em>)</p>
<p>Natasha led him back to the room where Valkyrie was waiting. Steve drew a sharp breath and braced himself. Bucky hung in a back corner, waiting. But as soon as the door opened, he bolted, disappearing into the night.</p>
<p>Steve’s heart sank. He knew how it was, knew that Bucky might have changed since he last saw him, but he had hoped to at least be able to talk to him.</p>
<p>The bassist for Valkyrie, Clint, walked over. “Sorry about that. He has a thing about the press—doesn’t want his picture taken or his name in any papers or anything like that. Wants to keep up his mystique or some shit like that.”</p>
<p>“So all those photos- “</p>
<p>“Can’t use any of them. You can interview me and Thor, talk about the band, but you can’t mention our lead singer by name or show him in any pictures.”</p>
<p>Natasha muttered some curses under her breath, but soon set to work, gathering quotes as Steve snapped photos. When they were done, they left the venue.</p>
<p>Natasha turned to Steve. “Thanks again for helping me out. I’ll have your $100 for you tomorrow. So you wanna do something else while we’re out? I can take you to one of those shitty 24/7 pancake places if you’d like.”</p>
<p>“As swell as that offer sounds, I think I’ll pass,” Steve said. “Out of curiosity, what are you going to do with all those photos I took of Valkyrie?”</p>
<p>“Probably toss ‘em.” Natasha shrugged. “They didn’t sign a release, so I can’t print any of them, but…” Her grin was wide and wicked as she faced Steve. “Given the way you were gawking at him, it’d be a shame to throw them out. So I’ll tell you what: I’ll see if I can bribe Bruce and get you a few copies. I may not be able to publish them, but there’s no rule saying that I can’t give them to you, so long as you don’t publish them.”</p>
<p> “Thanks.”</p>
<p> “Well, let’s just get you home.” She took Steve back to his dorm and collected the camera before she left.</p>
<p> Steve stepped carefully, trying not to wake his roommate.</p>
<p>That night, as he laid in bed, Steve’s thoughts were on music, the haunted grim singer whose voice gave life to the words, but also the shy, tentative preacher’s boy who had given him his first kiss.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Steve received the promised hundred dollars within a few days. The article about the Battle of the Bands was published, complete with the photos he had taken. Everyone had been very complimentary about it.</p>
<p>“Y’know if you ever get tired of being the paper’s art director, you’d make a damn good staff photographer,” Natasha said.</p>
<p>“Thanks, but I’ll pass.” It was nice, though, seeing his name in more than just the listing of the staff, because that was where Steve’s name was solely found in most editions.</p>
<p> Technically, his job title was “art director,” but that was a bit of a misnomer. While Steve did oversee the cartoons that wound up on the Op-Ed page, most of what he did, was managing the layout. He decided where the ads would be placed and generally went over the paper to make sure it looked its best. It wasn’t exciting work, but his scholarship to Shield required him to have at least one extracurricular and with his workload, the newspaper was the only one he could manage. Plus, it gave him an excuse to hang out with Natasha.</p>
<p>Natasha rolled her eyes as she looked over the editorial page. “Steve, you know I love you, but god, why do you have to run Captain Goofball?”</p>
<p>“Because the kid who draws it is a major donor to the school and this school is opposed to running anything remotely relevant or interesting in its paper.” Steve groaned. They had had this discussion every time a new edition of the paper came out, and his answer never changed.</p>
<p>She gave a theatrical sigh. “God, we really need to put out another edition of Smedley. Show this school what real journalism and satire is.”</p>
<p>“We’ll see what everyone thinks at the next meeting. Anyway, I gotta get to my next class.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Were it not for the school’s art program and Smedley, Steve wasn’t sure if he would have really stayed at Shield Prep. It wasn’t like he didn’t know that Shield was a rich kid school, but sometimes, it just hit him, how disgustingly rich this school was.</p>
<p>Still, there was something inherently subversive about art that not even the school’s stifling conservatism could smother. Though sometimes, it did its damndest to try.</p>
<p>“Very good work. Would you mind telling us about your creation?” He heard Mr. Coulson ask.</p>
<p>The class paused to look at Steve, whose cheeks bloomed scarlet.</p>
<p>It was the one thing he didn’t like about Mr. Coulson’s art class, how he would, at random intervals, put a student on the spot and ask them to defend/explain whatever it was they were currently working on.</p>
<p>Steve stared at his feet. “Well, I don’t really know where I’m going with this yet. It’s just some figure that’s really caught my eye.” The figure, of course, was Bucky. Ever since the Battle of the Bands, all of Steve’s thoughts, his homework assignments and his art, was filled with Bucky. He lost count of how many times he had looked at the photos Natasha gave him.</p>
<p>“I can tell. Do you intend for this figure to represent an actual person or is this a more abstract character?”</p>
<p>“A real person.” There was no way he could mask that. Steve felt all the words readying themselves to come out. He wanted to tell everyone about Bucky and the Battle of the Bands, but most importantly, about the woods and what they learned there, him and Buck. But his classmates would not appreciate a lecture.</p>
<p> Mr. Coulson continued. “So are you trying to craft a portrait?”</p>
<p>“Yes, but-“</p>
<p>“Because if you are, I’m not going to stop you, but you have to know that portraiture is one of the oldest art forms around. In taking on this craft, you are following in a very long tradition, treading ground that has been covered by many and will be covered by many more. So if you intend to carry this out, really delve into your subject and try to know him inside and out.”</p>
<p>“I will.”</p>
<p>The class resumed. Steve looked back at his own work-in-progress.</p>
<p>Mr. Coulson seemed cautious regarding his work, but there were hints of optimism. He clearly believed Steve had something, a spark that if carefully nourished, could become a beautiful flame, but was waiting to see where he was going to go with all this.</p>
<p>But Steve wasn’t really sure yet. What he had right now, was a vague silhouette. He needed more.</p>
<p>When he saw Natasha at dinner time, he decided to ask her. “So, uh, you and Clint, do you guys still stay in touch?”</p>
<p>“‘Course we do.” Natasha took a bite of her spaghetti. “You never make better friends than the ones you make in juvie.”</p>
<p>“Right, well, then, is there a way you can like give me a way I can get in touch with him?”</p>
<p>“Why do I have a feeling that this is less about Clint and more about that lead singer you can’t stop being all goo-goo-eyed about?” Natasha fluttered her eyes and made kissy sounds at him.</p>
<p>Steve shrank in his chair. “Okay, it admittedly is, but I want to find Bucky and I thought maybe he could help.”</p>
<p> “And you didn’t just use social media?”</p>
<p>“Bucky doesn’t have anything up anywhere and from what I can tell, Clint is very lazy at updating his accounts.”</p>
<p>“That sounds like Clint. He’s a senior here on an athletic scholarship, so during the year, he really throws himself into his work.” Natasha dug through her bag. “I can give you his phone number, but you’ll have better luck catching him out on the range. He goes there early in the morning to get some practice in before morning classes. And by range, I mean the one for archery, not golf.”</p>
<p>“Okay.” Steve headed to his dorm.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The next morning, Steve tried to step quietly so he wouldn’t wake his roommate, but unfortunately, his roommate was a light sleeper.</p>
<p>“Sorry, man,” Steve said as he threw on his jacket</p>
<p> Sam smiled sleepily. “Don’t sweat it. I’ll probably fall back asleep once you leave.”</p>
<p>“Don’t forget we have a Smedley meeting this evening.”</p>
<p> “I’ll be there.”</p>
<p>Winter hadn’t really hit yet, but it was on its way. Steve wrapped his jacket around him tighter as the morning air nipped at whatever flesh was exposed. He studied the campus map in the dim light, trying to parse out where the archery range was. Since Steve was the very opposite of an athlete, he couldn’t say he knew that area of the campus that well. Still, he found it easily enough.</p>
<p>Clint was exactly where Natasha said he would be, at the range, firing one arrow after another with the calm, steady pace of a metronome. “Oh hey,” Clint said, laying down his bow. “Are you the guy Natasha told me about?”</p>
<p> “Yeah,” Steve said. His breath hung on the air.</p>
<p>His smile was wide and genuine. “Well, I’m glad you enjoyed our performance at the Battle of the Bands. If you want to check out our music, here’s some websites. There aren’t many videos or pictures, but you can track ‘em down if you dig deep enough.” Clint scratched out a few URLs on a scrap of paper.  “But Natasha tells me you’re interested in one particular member of the band, and something tells me it’s not the bass player.”</p>
<p>“Sorry…” Steve mumbled. He wondered just how obvious his crush was, whether he might as well have “I love Bucky!” tattooed on his face.</p>
<p>Clint shrugged. “Eh, don’t be. James just draws people in.” He grimaced. “Look, I probably shouldn’t point you towards him. I like him, but the guy’s a mess. Me and Thor have been trying to get him help, but we haven’t had much luck. Maybe you can get through to him.”</p>
<p>“So do you like have a phone number or something?” Steve asked.</p>
<p>“Sorry…” Clint cringed. “The guy uses burner phones; he’s always changing his number. He lives in this beat-up old windowless van that barely runs. I don’t know where he’s parking it right now, but it’s probably not that far from the body shop where he works. Still, your best bet if you want to get ahold of him is, well, I sometimes let him borrow my student ID, so he can use the campus laundry and  practice rooms. Maybe you can catch him then.”</p>
<p>“Thanks.” Steve walked away, the scrap of paper tucked in his pocket.</p>
<p>From the sounds of things, he would probably be better off not going after Bucky. The Bucky he had seen onstage, seemed a far cry from the boy he’d kissed behind his mother’s trailer. But ever since he’d seeing him perform, Steve couldn’t just let him go. He had to see and talk to him again. Otherwise, he’d spend the rest of his life wondering what could have been.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He finally caught Bucky a few days later. As Clint promised, he was in one of the practice rooms. His head was bent low as though in prayer. When he saw Steve, he froze, holding his guitar tight, every muscle trembling.</p>
<p>Steve raised his hands slowly. He spoke softly. “It’s okay, Buck. I’m not going to rat you out to anybody. I just wanted to see you.”</p>
<p>“To see me?” His manner reminded Steve of the deer he sometimes saw in back of the trailer park, eyes cataloging the slightest movement, long, thin body poised tight as a spring.</p>
<p>All the questions Steve wanted to ask, pressed against the back of his lips, trying to come out. But he restrained himself. He had just found Bucky after so long. If he grew too nosy, Bucky would disappear and he’d be back at square one.</p>
<p>“It’s so good to see you again,” Steve said. “Is there a place we can go to talk?”</p>
<p>Bucky relaxed a little, though his overall manner remained uncertain. “Doesn’t this place have a curfew?”</p>
<p>“Says the man using someone else’s ID so he can sneak around and use the campus’s services.” Steve laughed.</p>
<p>Bucky smiled, tension no longer radiating as badly as before. “I suppose you have a point.”</p>
<p>“Just play it cool and keep quiet, and you can sneak around campus just fine. Security has always been rather lax when it came to curfew. There are just too many ways in and off campus that they really can’t cover all of them.”</p>
<p>“Tell you what,” Bucky said, “give me a moment to pack up my kit and I’ll take you to this greasy spoon I like to go to. My treat.”</p>
<p>The restaurant had cracked, red vinyl cushions in its booth, which stuck to Steve’s legs as he sat down.</p>
<p>Bucky took a menu and handed it to Steve, but did not take one for himself. He leaned closer so he could whisper. “The food here is basically all the grease, fat, and salt that anyone could want, and I love it.”</p>
<p>The two ordered their food. Bucky ordered two double bacon cheeseburgers with fries and a chocolate shake. Steve, not wanting to place too much of a financial burden on Bucky, ordered a grilled cheese sandwich and a Coke. He wasn’t that hungry to begin with, so Steve sat there, sipping his soda slowly.</p>
<p>Bucky, on the other hand, was ravenous, devouring his burgers with such speed, Steve wondered if he had had time to taste any of his meal. Then again, it didn’t take too long for him to notice the hollow, pinched look Bucky had about him. <em>Buck, what happened to you?</em></p>
<p>Steve wanted to ask him so many questions, but even still Bucky was wound up, ready to spring for the nearest exit if needed. He decided to stick to more pleasant, neutral fare. “So this band thing of yours, how long has it been going on?”</p>
<p>Bucky leaned back in his booth and tried to affect a James Dean-type insouciance. “I think we’re coming on six months.”</p>
<p>“So was this band your idea?”</p>
<p>“Nah. Thor and Clint had been working on putting it together for a while. They just needed a lead guitarist/singer which is where I come in.”</p>
<p>Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “So is there like some place where I can hear all your band’s songs?”</p>
<p>“Well, we’re still working on getting everything recorded, but we’ve got a few songs you can listen to at RedAlert, if you wanna check us out.” His grey-blue eyes had a sheen about him akin to that of tears. Bucky looked like he was about to say so many things, but instead, he lowered his head.</p>
<p>“Um…” Steve felt like he was all of twelve years old again. He wanted to disappear into the booth entirely, but forced himself not to. “It’s been really nice, seeing and hearing from you. Do you have a phone number or an email address, I can reach you at?”</p>
<p>“Sure,” Bucky said. He scribbled some numbers along with an email address onto a napkin, then leaned forward. “Well, do you think you need a walk back to campus?”</p>
<p>“I think I can manage.”</p>
<p>Steve stepped outside into the cool, night air, holding on tight to the napkin Bucky gave him. He hadn’t asked any of the questions he wanted to ask, the ones that really mattered, but it had been great to see him again. He wondered if he should ask around, see if Clint knew anything about the body shop where Bucky worked or where he parked his van.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bucky settled into the cramped, windowless van he called home, sweating and trembling from head to toe. He fumbled around until he found it: a little orange pill bottle. He opened it, swallowed one of the little white pills, and waited for it to take effect.</p>
<p>Peace unfolded across his brain, smoothing over the rough edges of his brain, comforting it the way a mother comforts a frightened child. The world was soft and warm.</p>
<p>Bucky wasn’t stupid. He knew he was an addict. But the pills just made everything so much easier. The nightmares were less vivid, and he could simply just be.</p>
<p>Groaning, he reached for his worn, leather wallet and counted the crumpled-up bills inside. He frowned. How could he be this low on cash? But then again, he was low on many things: low on food, low on cash, low on pills.</p>
<p>Food, he could manage well enough. Bucky had long become accustomed to surviving on rice and ramen. He was also a proficient dumpster diver. It wouldn’t be fun, but he could manage.</p>
<p>He probably shouldn’t have taken Steve out to eat, but it had been so nice to see him and he just got caught up in the moment.</p>
<p>It was the pills he was really worried about. His dealer, Rumlow, was a lot of things, but generous wasn’t one of them. He demanded payment, one way or another.</p>
<p>Bucky drew a sharp breath. He would figure something out. He had to.</p>
<p>In the meantime, he looked over the lyric sheet of a song he was working on called “Trapped in the Silver Chair.” He still hadn’t thought of a proper ending for it. He wondered if he ever would.</p>
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